Two hours into a ten hour drive to Sydney we decided to head an extra day up the coast to the famous tropical hipster land of Byron Bay.
Byron is this intoxicating blend of bearded, long-haired people publicly announcing their alternativeness, driving vans full of unusual shaped singlefin boards, German backpackers and dudes that moved here back in the day to live in a commune and escape the mainstream condemnation of their spirit. Now lingering in the hinterland of Bangalow or Mullumbimbi, only venturing into the overly congested Byron town to pick up some almond milk or gluten free bread.
Its a consuming bubble, a place people are quick to discuss how pretentious the whole situation is, these chicks with their felt hats and henna tattoos, yet continue to return year after year to drink coffee at the hippest joints in town and drive around in vans feeling oh so alternative.
I’m the same. Except we’re driving a battered Subaru whose exhaust pipe fell off so sounds destinctly like a motorbike and I have a tri-fin shortboard in the car that I haven’t surfed.
The talent on tinder is ridiculous. My tinder career has hit an all time high and my zip up fake doc martin boots are feeling crazy cool.
We’re staying in a friend’s cottage in the jungle. It is so quiet and amongst the constant rain it feels like we could be lost somewhere in the Amazon.
It’s a nice feeling being here. A vibe, everyone with their small businesses and blogs about homewares made from recycled material has gotten me pretty enthused. I have to admit, I like wearing a felt hat and rolling in like I have somewhere to be.